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by ScribbleScribe (Sauny)



Series: Lives after War [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parental Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauny/pseuds/ScribbleScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A take on Sniper reacting to his adopted parent's death, and his adoption, while in a relationship with Spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Also found here: http://scribblewrites.tumblr.com/post/122429114001/collapse

He doesn’t know where the sniper’s come from, when the man finally pulls his van back into their house’s shadow. The van looks no worse for wear, but the man in the front looks like he’s been through Hell and barely made it back.

He doesn’t ask questions when the marksman stumbles out, almost falls, and just supports him as he tries to get into the back. He feels lighter, despite only being gone a day or two, and the bags under his eyes speak of weeks without sleep.

“They’re dead.” He says, when he’s being laid down on a mattress the spy’s tried to replace for a year.

He brushes gentle fingers across the man’s forehead, assures him that he’s safe.

“No, my- my- they’re dead. Not even that.” He fidgets, gets his strength back for a moment only to pull away from the spy, “They lied to me.”

“Cher, you need to calm down. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“My bloody- They- They didn’t think to tell me.”

The spy rearranges him, sits him up for a second so he can sit beside the man and swap the pillow for his lap. He lets the man curl against him, lets him bury his face against his suit and take all the time he needs. He doesn’t mention the tears he can feel, or the silence being broken only by barely suppressed sobs, and when those subside he moves his hand through the hair at the back of the sniper’s skull.

“My parents lied to me. Not even my real parents.”

He understands, even if he can’t relate he can understand the sense of betrayal. His chest aches uncomfortably when the sniper makes a noise he, himself, had made before when he was small and abandoned, before he learnt to be detached.

The sniper needs him, it’s as simple as that. He’s not the most comforting, or  
the warmest, or even the most caring, but the sniper needs him and damn anything that would stop him trying.

He hushes his crying, wipes his tears, holds him close and tells him that he’s loved regardless of what he thinks. He kisses the sniper’s back and shoulders as he turns him, gets him sitting up and leaning against him where he can brush back hair that refuses to stay behind the man’s ears. When the sniper speaks it’s only when the tears stop, and it’s nothing beyond a weak request for water.

“Do you want to come inside?” He whispers back, and is grateful for the nod, “I’m going to carry you, just mind my face.”

He smiles, at his attempt at lighthearted teasing, and it seems to ease the sniper enough as to keep him still while he’s lifted. The spy takes him inside and bundles him in their bed’s sheets with the utmost care. His trip to fetch water takes little time and he’s back before the sniper can even sit up.

“How are you feeling?” He asks when the water’s done, takes the glass when he’s handed it.

“Like shit.”

“Alright. Just stay here and I’ll be right back.”

The sniper nods, and the spy keeps his promise. He tucks the man in and rolls him to the side where he can see every deep line the hours before had given him, inviting the sniper to stare back.

“I’m tired.”

He nods, “Go to sleep, I will make you breakfast in the morning and take you to the paddock the ducks are just returning to.”

The sniper hums, pulls himself in so he can hold onto the spy while he speaks.

“And there will be flowers, and maybe a frog or two, and those annoying Mosquitoes which I will ask you to defend me from just to give you an extra excuse to touch me. There will be no one around for miles, just us, and we will make love on a blanket since I am so very ‘fussy’ as you put it.”

The sniper nods tiredly, mumbling some kind of affirmative. The spy continues, voice growing quieter as the sniper began drifting, “I will have brought bread and wine, and I will have allowed you to bring some of those pies you like because I will be in a good mood. I will regret it, when I see you try and shove a whole one in your mouth, but I will still let you bring one the time after that and we will repeat the process all over again.”

He waits, and eases when he finds the sniper’s breathing even. He means what he said, even if the other man didn’t hear all of it, and stays on guard with thoughts of gentle springs and picnic lunches.


End file.
